


Universe Fallen

by TwisterMelody



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Fear, Horror, Outer Space, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisterMelody/pseuds/TwisterMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When all of Sherlock's worst fears commence at once, his universe shatters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Universe Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Let's Write Sherlock: Challenge 6!  
> Prompt: Write a fic in which a character of your choice faces his or her biggest, most primal fear. How it ends is up to you!  
> This is a sort of Doctor Who/Sherlock crossover, but focuses on Sherlock... Enjoy!

"Come on, it'll be fun!" John exclaimed, trying to coax him into it.  
  
" _Fun_ ," Sherlock mocked, "in no way will this be _fun_. It seems as though you and I have entirely different definitions of the word," he grumbled.  
  
He watched as the Doctor whirled around the crazed inner workings of the TARDIS, pulling levers and pushing every button in sight. "Come now," he called out. "We've had plenty of space for time, and now it's time for space!" His lanky frame practically danced with glee as his hair flopped over one side of his face.  
  
Before Sherlock could say anything, the Doctor grinned wildly at both of them with the TARDIS shaking, rocketing them off to their destination.

* * *

When they finally stepped out of the traveling blue box, they found themselves in an over sized blindingly white corridor lined with overly large windows.  
  
"Off we go!" exclaimed the Doctor as he ran out ahead of Sherlock and John.  
  
Sherlock was frozen in place. He hadn't agreed to this, he hadn't even wanted to go in the first place. To be truthful, he had been filled with anxiety at the mere idea. Sure, traveling in time was one thing, but traveling into space? It was an entirely different paying field. An unexplored territory full of endless possibilities, and as he'd come to learn on their travels, _impossibilities_ as well, so much so that his mind was unable to process it.  
  
"Sherlock? You okay?" John faltered beside him, his voice filled with a quiet concern.  
  
"Bit risky, isn't it?" Sherlock asked, managing to keep an air of annoyance about his voice. "Messing about in space? There's not -"  
  
"Enough data," John finished for him with a slight laugh. "Come on. Taking risks is what you do. You love the thrill of danger!"  
  
"Yes, but not the improbable."  
  
John gave him a doubtful look at his words. "And having lunch with the 67th president of the United States wasn't improbable?"  
  
"No," he answered, "though her pets were somewhat interesting. Never would have guessed her fondness of reptiles."  
  
The Doctor called to them from down the hallway, interrupting their conversation. "Come on you two, enough babbling, more exploring!"  
  
John inclined his head and gave a quick tug of his coat sleeve. "Come on."  
  
Sherlock's stomach did flips as they made their way down the long hall. He forced himself to keep his face set in stone and his vision straight, refusing to glance out of the large windows into the everlasting darkness surrounding them. Their footfalls clacked against the marble floor sending echoes throughout.   
  
"Where are we?" John inquired.  
  
"Where and _when_ ," the Doctor corrected as he whirled around, watching them with a smile overtaking his face as they kept walking. "It is the year 3015 and we are on the Ivandale - a large ship created to sustain life in space with the overpopulation of the earth and all." He clasped his hands together as he continued walking backwards, miraculously managing not to lose his footing. "There are people on this ship who are here because of you two. You should be very proud."  
  
"Because of us?" John asked.  
  
"Yes! Well, descendants, anyway."  
  
Sherlock and John's heads both swiveled to each other, and for the briefest second, Sherlock could have sworn that John's ears reddened at the tips.  
  
"Descendants," John echoed, finally tearing away from Sherlock and glancing back at the Doctor.  
  
"Well, not yours," he explained, his grin falling away. "At least, I'm fairly certain. But one never knows if you two have had children. Tricky business, meddling around in timelines." John's mouth had fallen open at the implication. The Doctor hastily straightened himself up. "Not that I'm implying that you two, eh..." he trailed off. "Blimey," he mumbled, fumbling about with his hands as Sherlock let out an annoyed sigh.   
  
"Anyway," he continued, railing away from the subject. "The only people directly alive because of you two are, well, you two." He gave them a knowing look, smiling. "That's what you do, isn't it? Protect and save each other? You've been at it for centuries now."  
  
"Centuries?" Sherlock asked, suddenly interested as he knew full well the power of the Doctor's travels.  
  
The Doctor grinned. "Ah yes! You two - you balance each other out and go together like sugar and spice, tea and biscuits!" He paused suddenly before grinning wildly at them. "Like fish fingers and custard! Always you two."  
  
It had obviously gotten John's attention as well. "What did you mean by centuries?"  
  
"Spoilers," he warned. "Anyway. There are descendants of people whose cases you've solved or will solve before time runs out. And let me just say, the number is staggering!"  
  
As the Doctor kept talking, there was a flash of something out of the corner of his eye, but Sherlock wasn't sure of what it was. He followed the movement, mistakenly, and caught himself breathlessly gazing out the window as his feet came to a halt. Suspended in space with the earth spinning far below them, millions stars shined brightly, dancing around as if to make way for the ship. There was nothing keeping them tethered or grounded, and the thought sent a wave of nausea washing through him, but he remained with a mask upon his face. The knowledge that he was floating in the never ending darkness sent a chill down his spine, but he remained stoic. Suddenly there was a presence beside him.  
  
"Amazing, isn't it?" John asked. He stood next to Sherlock with his hands clasped behind his back, forever the soldier. "I've been waiting for you to see this. Not quite the reaction I expected, though."  
  
"I prefer the earthly view," he mumbled, doing his best to keep his voice indifferent.  
  
"You know," the Doctor began as he appeared behind the two of them, an arm draped over each one, "people on this ship regularly walk among the stars."  
  
He could practically hear the smile in John's voice. "You mean we can -"  
  
"Yes!" The Doctor looked between them, grinning. "Of course, we could have done that with the powers of the TARDIS as well, if it weren't for _someone_ ," he gritted, looking at Sherlock, "arguing the whole time. Why would you ever delete the solar system? It's so _fascinating_ , don't you think?"  
  
Sherlock was utterly speechless. He couldn't say what was really circling his mind, the never ending chant of ' _no, no, no,_ ' weaving it's way through his thoughts. He searched for something that made sense, a map of the cosmos outlining the workings of the galaxies somehow, but he knew no such thing existed, and the prospect was more terrifying than thrilling. To admit the growing fear was something he couldn't bring himself to do. Taking inspiration from John, he soldiered on. But for how long?  
  
Moments of silence passed before the Doctor clapped the both of them on their shoulders. "Well, I'll be off for a bit," he said as he started walking away.  
  
"Off to where?" John called out.  
  
"Anywhere, therefore nowhere," he smiled as he straightened out his ridiculous bow tie. He disappeared around a corner only to pop back again with a finger pointed at them. "Don't break anything! I mean that!" And with that, he was gone.  
  
When John started walking away, alarm bells went off in Sherlock's head. "Where are you going?"  
  
John turned back to him, stopping in the middle of the corridor. "I'm going for a walk among the stars. Coming?"  
  
His stomach sank to his shoes at the mere thought. He had never in his life dreamed of doing that. Admiring beauty from afar, he could handle. It was a good thing. But he could never admire it for too long, for the rattling of his brain never dared to stop pushing at the unknown answers to questions he didn't want to ask. "John, I don't -"  
  
"Come on," John pleaded, "I've done so much for you. I'm just asking for this one thing, just for me." John gave his most convincing puppy dog eyed look. "Please?"  
  
"Alright," Sherlock eventually agreed. For John, he thought, he would do anything. He didn't know what exactly made him say yes, but he had the wrenching feeling he'd just made a vast mistake, and there was no time for him to recalculate his steps.

* * *

The ship really was massive. The center of the thing had resembled that of a mall, and with mind over matter, Sherlock could pretend that it was. With its dimmer lights, throngs of people walking about, and so many points of entertainment scattered through the ship, he really got a feel of just how populated it was. There had to have been thousands of people on board at least.   
  
Sherlock let John lead them through as he followed only one step behind with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. He wore a scowl on his face to purposely keep people from talking to him, though he and John had received a few odd looks, but no more than usual when they traveled with the Doctor, so he brushed it off. The faster they got this over with, the faster they could get back to 221B - to normalcy. It was surreal to be in such a place, and he was hating every moment of it. They were seeking out the exploration area of the ship for their walk when there was a tugging sensation at the bottom of his coat.   
  
Sherlock stopped and turned, causing John to do the same almost as an instant reflex. He found a little girl staring up at him with wide eyes who couldn't have been more than seven years old. Her long strands of dark curls framed her small face like a lion's mane as she smiled up at him.  
  
"Are you really him?" she asked with her young voice full of hope.  
  
Sherlock furrowed his brow. Usually he would brush it off, but this child interested him. Besides, she would serve as means of procrastination if nothing else. "Who?"  
  
"Sherlock Holmes!" she exclaimed.  
  
His breath caught for a split second in surprise. There was a decrescendo of the chatter around them at the exclamation, loud conversations turned into hushed and hurried whispers. The gazes of the passengers caused a burning feeling through the thickness of his coat. John glanced around in confusion as Sherlock knelt down next to the little girl.  
  
"Yes," he replied quietly, looking around to see people distracting themselves from him. "And pray tell how did you know that?"  
  
"Everyone know who you are, and who you are too," she said, indicating her head towards John's direction. "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," she grinned. "Are you here to save us?"  
  
John knelt down next to Sherlock, his face drawn up in concern. "Save you?"  
  
"Yeah, they say that when Sherlock Holmes comes to solve the riddle, we'll be saved!"  
  
The noise had gone back to its previous loudness at that point, making it hard for Sherlock to think. How did this little girl over one thousand years into the future know who they were? Did they really have that big of an impact upon the world? What could they possibly have to do with anything here? There was a possible mystery for him to solve in the most impossible place.  
  
"Who? What riddle?" he asked, determined to get to the bottom of it.  
  
"Well you see there's -"  
  
Suddenly, before she could explain, an angry looking man appeared behind the little girl, hoisting her up into his arms. "Chloe!"  
  
"Dad I just -" the little girl was cut off in her explanation by her father dragging her away.  
  
They disappeared into the crowd with Sherlock and John instantly losing sight of them. They shared a look before straightening themselves out.  
  
John frowned. "What do you suppose that was about?"  
  
"I don't know," Sherlock replied quietly as he took in the surroundings of the room. There were more large windows off to one side that he had been avoiding, but he risked a glance out as he'd be reluctantly following John out into the darkness anyway. That was how it worked between them, one was never far behind the other. There was a scuttling of something against the window - a brief flash of red that made him blink - and in an instant, it was gone. He swallowed. "But I have a feeling we're going to find out."

* * *

Putting everything else aside for the time being, they finally made their way to the exploration area after a bit of navigation. It was a large room which nearly mirrored that of the corridor they started out in. Sherlock had been stripped of his coat while John was shrugged out of his jacket. The woman who had been helping them into their suits watched them like a hawk. Her wavy raven hair was swept away from her face making her eye movements more than obvious. Sherlock felt they looked ridiculous and overly small in their equipped white space suits and reflective helmets. Annoyed with the entire thing after he was suited up, Sherlock picked up an oxygen tank and shoved it to John without really paying attention to what he was doing.  
  
"Oi!" John cried. "Careful!"  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes as another assistant appeared to hook John's tank up to his suit. He moved around him with painstakingly obvious calculated steps. The woman and man shared glances that made Sherlock more than a bit suspicious. He eyed them cautiously as they finished up.  
  
"Before I let you out," the woman began, "I've got a question for you."  
  
"A question," John said incredulously.  
  
She turned on her heel to Sherlock with a wicked grin. "What's worse than forever flying?"  
  
Sherlock inched his head to the side in confusion, obviously not in the mood for whatever game it was she had cooking up. He just wanted to get it over with. "I don't follow," he said plainly.  
  
"Hah," she laughed. "That's really too bad."  
  
There wasn't time enough to ask her what she was going on about. The entire ship began shaking; a trembling throughout the core that caused lights to flicker as screams came from the main quarter. Sherlock's eyes widened in fear as he and John whipped their heads around in unison. The great windows of the exploration area had been partially covered from the outside. Thick shining white thread zig-zagged across the view of the stars. The screams became louder cries of horror as the quaking became unable to ignore. A hand clasped around his wrist, and even through the material, he knew the touch.  
  
"Sherlock," John half whispered.  
  
The trembling tone of his voice instantly caught his attention, and he turned to see John frozen in pure terror. His eyes were widened and he seemed breathless as the color drained from his face. Upon meeting his gaze upon what John was staring at, he understood.  
  
The two assistants that were with them had transformed. Their bodies had been morphed into almost that of a centaur like creature, only with the bottoms half sprouting eight angry dark legs of that of an arachnid. Suddenly taller, the two loomed over Sherlock and John menacingly. Their eyes tore away from them the moment the screeching sound of tearing metal filled the room. A wall had been abruptly ripped away exposing the chaos behind it. Suddenly, a creature loomed at them from behind the shadows of the disarray.  
  
Before them stood a dark gargantuan spider at least fifteen feet tall. It caused a shaking of the ship with every step. The sleek menacing body had long spindly legs attached to it with the ends seemingly dipped in crimson. Sherlock had a vision of when they first arrived, the flash he'd seen out of the corner of his eye - this was it - and the Doctor was nowhere to be found this time around. The creature crawled over to them, it's body moving in a nearly reptilian manner. There was a difference about this spider, obvious size aside. Somehow, it seemed familiar to him. There were human eyes on the creature staring back at him, and a red mark on the belly he couldn't quite make out.  
  
"I knew you'd end up here," the creature hissed. The deepened voice had an odd vibration to it that nearly caused goosebumps. "Amazing, the things that can be done in a thousand years."  
  
The creature raised its body marginally to show off the marking underneath. John's hand tightened on Sherlock's wrist as they both instantly understood the meaning behind the red M marking the belly. The creature lowered itself again.  
  
"It can't be..." John trailed off.  
  
"Oh, but it can, and it _is_ ," it squealed with delight. "All of time and space, bent just to fit my needs. I've spun a tangled web just for you, you know." More half human half arachnid creatures appeared behind it like an impromptu army as the shrieks continued. Lights flickered more ferociously, casting darkened shadows upon any hope that was left on the ship. "All of these pets of mine are helping these ordinary people do what they do best."  
  
"Do what?" Sherlock questioned, his ever present curiosity taking over in spite of himself.  
  
"Die!" the creature sneered. "You've led me here, and unless you solve my riddle, all of these people - including your precious John - will die, and on your head be it." he rumbled as he moved closer. "Because you and I, Sherlock, we're one in the same." He moved one of his long legs up and twisted it, letting the tip rest just under Sherlock's chin. Sherlock's stomach recoiled at the touch. "You're me," he whispered not all too quietly. "Now answer me; What's worse than forever flying?"  
  
Sherlock's brain went haywire and came to a screeching halt all at the same time. He could feel so many eyes upon him, the pressure and potential consequence was too much for him. He wildly tried to seek out anything, anything in the place that might hold the key of the answer, but there was absolutely nothing.  
  
"Time's up!" The creature leaned down to meet their eye level. "Do you know what's worse than forever flying?"  
  
All Sherlock could do was stare at the creature in front of him, every thought he ever had suspended and frozen within the depths of his mind.  
  
A dangerous grin snaked across the creature's face as it's eyes of bloodstained copper thundered. "Falling without a permanent destination."  
  
The creature's mouth opened, and without warning, there was a ball of fire rolling outwards in an explosive manner. Upon instinct, Sherlock lurched for John, knocking them both against the wall with a force. The ship became engulfed in a chaotic eruption of flickering flames as the sounds of shattering glass and steel overtook the screams. Sherlock closed his eyes to offset the physical feeling of the destruction around him. He held on to John as best as he could through the material as he was determined not to let him slip away. There had to be a way out, a way to _live_. But, when the screaming stopped, when he was suddenly hurled through space, and when he'd lost track of John, he realized that wasn't the case at all.  
  
He didn't know how long, but he tumbled through the emptiness, his body crashing into bits and pieces of the destroyed ship as he went along. Surprisingly, his means of survival hadn't been damaged, but what was the point of survival if there was no hope left? When he slowed, he finally managed to somewhat get his bearings through the dizzying disorientation, and he screamed out the only thing on his mind.  
  
"John!" If he was out there somewhere, the communicator should have picked it up. _Through centuries_ , the Doctor had said. John had to be here, he _had_ to. "John!" he screamed again. Suddenly, something collided with his body, knocking the wind out of him. He scrambled around to see the familiar space suit he'd lost track of, and when he saw John inside and awake, a feeling of short lived relief washed over him. He looked tired and nauseated, but thankfully otherwise alright.  
  
"Shit," John muttered, his voice covered in static over the communicator. "Is it too much to hope for all of that to be a hallucination?"  
  
"I'm afraid so," Sherlock answered. He grabbed John's arms and maneuvered him so that they were facing one another and no longer flying off into the unknown. He grasped his shoulders tightly as John returned the gesture as not to lose each other. "This isn't one of your television programs."  
  
John's face fell, and Sherlock couldn't bear to watch. He turned his attention to the mess he'd made. His lips parted slightly and trembled when he took in the enormity of what he'd done. The ship was in tatters with bits and pieces hurling through the stars, the largest chunk of it floating away into the darkness. People were everywhere, and he had to fight to keep down a dry heave at the sheer number of bodies and limbs scattered about. Thousands of people were gone because of him, because he couldn't solve something. He had been beaten in the absolute worst way. And yet, the earth below still spun as if nothing had happened. How could that be?  
  
John gently shook him and brought him out of his thoughts. When he met his gaze, he found no judgement there, just a softness of understanding that John had always given him. Sherlock pulled him closer and knocked the glass of their helmets together, managing to block out most of the reflection of the devastation around them.  
  
"Astrophobia," Sherlock suddenly croaked.  
  
John stared at him in half confusion. "Fear of space?"  
  
Sherlock nodded within his suit. "It's um. I have it. A bit," he tried to explain. "That's why I deleted the solar system as a child. It frightened me, the unknown of what is or isn't out here. An emptiness full of impossibilities," he quietly confessed. "I just wanted you to know that."  
  
"And I made you..." John trailed off. "Jesus, Sherlock. I'm sorry," he managed to choke out. "God, I'm sorry. Fuck!"  
  
"You needn't worry, it's a bit too late for apologies," Sherlock murmured, meaning every bit of it. It would do no good for either of them if they both were to lose it now. No matter how they ended up here, the series of consequences fell upon Sherlock's shoulders, and he would do anything to make sure John didn't feel the same pressure.  
  
John turned his head away momentarily as if to put a barrier between himself and the happenings around them. When his oceanic eyes met Sherlock's again, they were full of heavy remorse, enough sadness to darken an entire city.  "And this is how it ends for us," he stated, shaking his head in disbelief.  
  
"It was either here or a street in London," Sherlock told him. He closed his eyes. No matter what, at least John was there. A constant point set in his life, and he was there with him. They floated along together watching the destruction below their feet with the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing that could be done.  
  
A small, nervous laugh came from John. "There's a poetry in all of this, somewhere. Always us against the world and now - God, we're about to..." he trailed off again, seemingly at a loss for words. "You know, I never got to tell you."  
  
Silence passed lasting far too long for Sherlock's taste. "Tell me what?" His eyes snapped open to reveal John in front of him, his breathing shallow and his eyes weary. The now fuzzy memory of the exploration area bubbled to the surface of his thoughts. The oxygen tank he'd grabbed had been running a bit low, but the quick flash of annoyance through his mind told him they wouldn't be out that long, and that John would be fine. "No, no!" he cried upon realizing his fatal mistake. "John!" A faint smile passed over John's lips before his eyes closed for the final time, his grip loosening from Sherlock's shoulders. "No," he quaked, "no."  
  
All of his nightmares had come true at once, and he had brought it all upon himself.

Just like that, the last thread of his world had been unraveled and plucked out of his hands. John, his golden gravity, his guiding light and teather to life had been torn away. All he could do was watch in horror as his lifeless form drifted off to towards the fiery and brightly shining sun. His heart had been burned out of him as promised, and soon it would be quite literally.  
  
Hyperventilation took over his body and he was suddenly forever falling without a destination, his own universe fallen and in shambles. There was nothing but a quietness engulfing him as he tumbled his way across the stars, their lights burning out as he passed. Wherever he went the darkness followed like an ever growing shadow. He was truly alone with nothing but the silence of his mind heavy with the weight of his consequences to keep him company. He wanted to scream, to fight his way back to the start, but he was paralyzed. He closed his eyes, hoping for anything, silently praying for the end.  
  
"I told you how it ends," the far away voice of the creature hissed. "I owed you this much and so much more. I owe you, Sherlock. I owe you."

* * *

John's voice pierced through the darkness.  
  
"Sherlock, Sherlock hey," he said soothingly.  
  
Sherlock gasped as eyes flew open to see John standing over him in the living room of 221B, his hands firmly placed upon his shoulders. "John!" he rasped as he scrambled into a half sitting position on the sofa. In a flurry of sleepy eyed confusion, he clasped his hands on either side of John's head, pulling it mere inches away from his own. It was then after a few seconds of the half concerned half annoyed look on his friend's face that Sherlock broke out into a grin.  
  
 _Just a nightmare... Just a nightmare!_  
  
John lightly batted his hands away from his face. "I should have known staying awake that long would throw you for a loop," he muttered as he stood and made his way to the kitchen.  
  
Sherlock rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. How illogical of him to think any of that actually happened. Either way, he was satisfied. When he went to sit himself up, a familiar melody of music from the television filled the living room. He whipped his head up and glared at it as the familiar blue box whirled across the screen. In a swift movement, he hurled the remote at the device and grinned in triumph as it managed to successfully hit the power button to shut it all down.   
  
"Hey!" John protested. "I was watching that, you know. Just because you've had a bad dream doesn't give you the right to take it out on the television." He walked over and handed Sherlock a steaming mug of tea.   
  
"It gives me every right," he argued, not wanting to delve into the details of what flowed through his sleeping mind.  
  
John rolled his eyes. "Here," he said as he pulled Sherlock's phone out of the pocket of his jeans. "It's been going off for a while but I knew you needed sleep so I uh. Well. I confiscated it," he said with a crooked grin as he handed the device over. "Don't ask me what your messages have said either, I'm not your carrier pigeon." He sat down in his armchair and turned the television back on.  
  
Sherlock scrolled through his messages as he carefully sipped his tea. Mostly from clients, a few from Mycroft demanding attention to some case, a couple from Lestrade, the usual. Only one caught his eye, and when it did, he nearly tipped his mug over in his lap.  
  
John let out a huff of laughter as a witness to the scene. "Don't burn yourself," he warned.   
  
It may have been a bit too late for that. He blinked at the screen.  
  
See you soon.  
Jim Moriarty x


End file.
